please (don’t) accept this rose.

I’m a 24 year old woman. I have an excellent education. I rather read “the great gatsby” than (most) any piece of chick lit, and I prefer good conversation to a long walk on the beach. WHY is it then, that every Monday night I find myself drawn to watching an unconfident, yet very pretty girl take average guys on group dates where they do things like faux Japanese boxing, planned not by the Bachelorette but by ABC? I mean honestly, the said Bachelorette spends an estimated 40% of each episode crying about some dope that left the show because he didn’t want her and the other 60% pretending to seem interested in the guys chosen for her by ABC. And honestly, how am I to believe that it’s that easy to fall in love and be ready for marriage, no less, after a mere 6 weeks? It’s stuff like this that makes confident girls like us doubt the whole process – I mean, if it’s that easy, then why are our own love lives so complicated?
Ladies, we must pull it together. Sure, watch the 2 hours of ups and downs with your host Chris Harrison, but please don’t let all the ridiculousness seep into your subconscious. We have got to stop thinking that love is something that just magically happens and is often easier if you are far removed from friends and loved ones halfway across the world. You don’t have to go all the way to Hong Kong to figure out if he’s worth your time! Relationships can be wonderful and just what we want or need at the time, but it’s not all rainbows and butterflies. Let’s face it, relationships, when you really start to care, are messy and don’t come with background music… people change their minds and sometimes the bachelor turns out to be not too eligible, and you can’t do a damn thing to change the way things are. It’s real life – there are no cameras and there are no confessionals. It’s just you and the other guy, or guys, trying to figure out if the feelings are in fact real and whether or not the love is worth the inevitable roller coaster.
My point is this: watch, laugh, pick your favorite dopes…but PUULEASE do not start thinking like abc reality tv execs wants you to think. As for me and my house, I rather meet my eligible bachelor at Twin Kegs than on a “fantasy date” in the middle of a fountain in Vegas. Sure, sweep me off my feet, but spare me the small talk and let’s have some real conversation about things that actually matter. As for the roses, save them for a day when you want to send me a dozen, just because, and you’ll be my favorite. Bonus points if they are not delivered by Chris Harrison.

ooh la la la la la la la

Good morning and a happy happy Monday to you and your’s. I’m going into my second hour of my last grad class, Data-Driven Culture, which IS just as boring as it sounds, especially today since we are discussing Ethnographic Culture. BLAH. This class may kill me. This venti iced whatever and the guy next to me oohing and ahhing over somebody’s kind of terrible wedding pictures on the Facebook are keeping me slightly amused and awake enough to share with you fine people.

Let’s see. Things have been…eventful. The cicadas are officially gone, as all of Nashville sings the Hallelujah chorus, so I’m back to running outdoors without fear or limitation. It’s a beautiful thing. I took a quick trip to North Carolina with C, first time to be in that part of the US of A, don’t judge, and I have it say it was lovely. We spent most of the trip eating good food and laying by the pool, talking about errything, so needless to say, it was a trip well spent. Also, C’s mom might possibly be THE greatest, i.e. her favorite phrase is “oh balls” and she has the fridge and pantry stocked as if Trader Joes were to marry Whole Foods. Winning! Oh and speaking of moms, my mom and I are back to ignoring the small issues and being semi-normal again, just in time for Father’s Day. It is what it is and she and I will always be the way we are. Don’t think too much about that one, kids. AND my best friend’s wedding is happening this weekend and I honestly can’t get it in my head that it’s happening in just a few days. She’s growing up and moving into her own place to live with a boy! Oh brother, I won’t get sentimental just yet. She’s already been playing wife, getting everything perfect at their new residence and making sure all of the tiny details are perfect for the upcoming nuptials. Our dining room looks like a southern wedding factory, with all the monogrammed cups and napkins and SWAG (stuff we all get, you’re welcome for that Michael Scott reference)… it’s quite the sight to behold. I have decided that when I’m ready to get married I’m just going to hire her, indefinitely, to organize my life and run the show.
And some other things I choose not to disclose, so instead I give you Grace Potter, who will be my spokesperson for events I shan’t discuss. Not yet, anyways.

Oh my mother.

There comes a time in every girl’s life when she decides she has no desire to speak to her mother for an extended bit of time, or in my case, until I see her at my best friend’s wedding next weekend. While my mother and I differ on many an issue and we fought for most of the 90s, we typically stay off each other’s toes…with the exception of times like yesterday. I don’t know what got into her, she snapped and like word vomit she started expressing her “concerns” about every little thing she thinks she knows about me and my life, currently. I was exhausted and having an off morning, and she took that and ran with it – all of a sudden I’m a sad girl who has lost her self-confidence and ability to be happy. Excuse me, what? I believe I actually laughed at this notion, since I am a very happy person who typically deals with the tough stuff and laughs at most everything, see also this little blog. She went on forever it seemed, voicing her “concerns” and telling me that she remembers what it was like to be 20 something and that she knows more than I think, blah blah. Mother, I do love you and I think very highly of you, but at 24 you were entering your 7th year of marriage and were trying to get pregnant. Little different there. It’s tough for her to really grasp the concept that I’m a big girl, living in my own house in the “big city” and happy with my friends and life I’ve created here. She wants to feel needed, I get that, but talking nonsense and trying to pry is no way to strengthen our relationship. She ended the conversation in true Mom fashion by telling me that my hair looked great, a supposed bandaid for her ridiculousness I assume. Ohhhh brother.

I haven’t heard from her since and I predict it will be a few days. I’ll be silent and she’ll call and apologize for her craziness. I just want to go ahead and put it in writing that if I am lucky enough to have my own little girl one day I solemnly swear to remember what it’s like to be me at this age.
Eh, it’s always something. Every mom I know has lost her S. Or every mother in law, for that matter. Take my bff Ashley, for example. She is getting married in two weeks and her future mother-in-law just sent her an email of all the items she is “expecting to receive” from Ashley, including a list of all of her own family members who were invited to the wedding. Mother dearest, indeed.